


The Order of the Rogue

by orphan_account



Category: Fairy Tales and Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-19
Updated: 2012-12-19
Packaged: 2017-11-21 13:36:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/598351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Behave,” Robin warns him, “or the High Scoundrel will ban you, like she did all the Greeks.”</p><p>“Did they try to get you pregnant too?” Tinker wants to know.</p><p>“The Greeks try to get everybody pregnant,” Blanchette tells her.</p><p>Tinker wrinkles her nose. “Did they try and get you pregnant?”</p><p>Blanchette's whiskers lift in a smirk. “Once.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Order of the Rogue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mardy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mardy/gifts).



> Thank you to those who helped me with this!

Robin lands at the Court just as Fox comes sidling out of the shadows.

 

“Fox,” she says, folding her wings away.

“Goodfellow,” he replies, and they fall into step together. "You're a girl."

"When I feel like it."

“Seen anyone else?”

Robin shakes her head. “I’ve only just touched down. You?”

“I saw Jareth in the shadows,” Fox says. “Coyote went by. And whatshisname. Nail Soup Guy.”

They’ve reached the twin gates of the Court, and the two stone sentries who guard them. “Is it a nail? I thought it was an axe.”

"Aren't you casting your vote on Jack this year?" Fox says, as they wait for the sentries to turn and face them.

"I am."

"Hmm." Fox's tail flicks up three times in the air. "Interesting that you've ended up with the casting vote."

"Is it?"

"I thought they might choose someone a little more..."

"A little less what?"

"Predictable," Fox says delicately. 

Robin laughs out loud. "Are you saying I can't be trusted?"

He flashes his sharp, white teeth. "Who can?"

"Nobody I'd call friend," Robin says, and winks.

“Welcome, travelers,” one of the sentries booms in an irritating, self-important voice. “Tell me, what is it that you seek here?”

“We seek entry to the Court, as is our right and duty as members of the Order of the Rogue,” Fox says in a bored voice. “Same as every year.”

“Entry to the Court is granted only to those with the sharpest wits and the quickest tongues,” the other sentry chimes in. “If you wish to pass through the gate, you must first-”

“Would the other sentry tell me his gate led to the Court?” Robin cuts him off, impatient.

The sentry blinks, startled. “I hadn’t finished.”

“One of you always tells the truth, one of you always lies,” Fox says. He sits down at Robin’s feet and yawns, very deliberately. “One gate leads to a fiery etc. Can we just get on with it?”

“I told you we needed a new riddle,” the first sentry says to the other one. “Everyone knows this one. Even the humans. It was in a film!”

“It’s traditional,” the other sentry protests.

“It’s tedious,” Robin says. “You know perfectly well who we are, and frankly, your idea of a ‘riddle’ wouldn’t keep us out even if we were impostors who had somehow managed to navigate the magical, invisible shadowpath that can only be accessed by members of the Order. Just let us in.”

“Fine,” the sentry grumbles, and his gate swings back to reveal the shadowy passage beyond. “But next year I’m coming up with something really good.” 

“I tremble with anticipation,” says Robin, and follows Fox into the shadows.

*

Inside, Robin closes her eyes and flinches at the sick, weird tremble that runs from the tips of her wings right down to the tips of her toes. It’s her magic, leaving her, as it must leave every rascal who enters the Court. She still has her wits, though, and so she joins Fox to make her mark under the Seal, a solemn promise that no trickery shall be carried out while the Court is in session.

“That’s an interesting shade of grey you’ve turned,” Fox observes, pressing his paw neatly on the ledger.

“I’ll live,” Robin says. She takes up a pen and scratches her common name onto the page. Her wings lie heavy and useless against her back, now, and her feet feel flat and lead-like on the floor. Worse still is the nothingness, the indeterminate, empty wrongness that rattles around inside her skin. She never gets used to it, she always hates it, and already she finds herself looking forward to the closing of this year’s Court, and the blinding sugar-rush of returning magic that will have her flying loop-the-loops all the way home.

She turns to complain to Fox, but of course he’s nowhere to be seen. Probably playing cards with Coyote and the Rabbit by now, and winning, too, unless Anansi’s their fourth. Robin has her own kind to seek out, too, and follows the flick of a pretty white tail disappearing into a shadowy corner of the hall.

It's Blanchette, of course, leaping neatly up to curl on the ledge there. “Mon ami,” she says.

Robin greets Blanchette in the proper way one should greet any cat: by turning her head aside and fixing her half-lidded eyes on a faraway point. “It’s good to see you.”

"And you."

"And me!" Tinker pipes up, flinging herself at Robin for a hug. “But you’re alone. Where’s the big cheese? Have they still not approved his membership?”

“Nope,” Robin says. The others move back to make a space for her in the corner, and Robin finds a place to perch. “Much to his irritation.”

Tinker laughs, that ridiculous cartwheel of bells that makes anyone who hears it start beaming like a fool. Robin’s not immune, and finds herself grinning along. “Poor old O,” Tinker says, and laughs again. “It’s a hard life. Doesn’t he ask you to sponsor him in?”

“He asks.” Robin laces her hands behind her head and lets herself see her King’s beloved, outraged face for a minute. “But I told him, you know. There are other worlds than the one we share. I don’t ask him to take me along to the Merovingian reunions, do I?”

Blanchette makes a face. “As if you would. Anyway, aren't you busy this year casting the vote on Jack? I heard it all hangs on your say-so."

“Which Jack?” Tinker wants to know.

“Of ‘and the Beanstalk’ fame,” says a new voice, a voice that flows like spiced honey and cool milk, which belongs to only one creature in any world Robin knows. The voice goes on, "And I'm confident we can count on your support."

“Loki,” Robin says, and points a finger at him. “Do not even think about getting me pregnant.”

He’s the very picture of aggrieved vilification, even going so far as to press a long-fingered hand against his chest and bow his head. “You wound me.”

“I ought to,” she says, folding her arms. “Two years in a row you tried that. I wasn’t even female last year!”

He tosses his head. “A minor detail.”

“Behave,” Robin warns him, “or the High Scoundrel will ban you, like she did all the Greeks.”

“Did they try to get you pregnant too?” Tinker wants to know.

“The Greeks try to get everybody pregnant,” Blanchette tells her.

Tinker wrinkles her nose. “Did they try and get you pregnant?”

Blanchette's whiskers lift in a smirk. “Once.”

“I’ll thank you not to compare me to a horde of drunken mountain-dwellers who can’t keep it in their togas,” Loki sniffs. 

“I don’t think they wore togas,” says Jesus, rocking up with Lucifer in tow. “More likely the chiton, no?”

Loki gives Jesus a dirty look, but offers his hand warmly to Lucifer. “My friend! Is this the year you finally depose Our Lady of Deceit? The High Scoundrel’s chair has your name on it, if you ask me.”

Jesus snorts. “Unlikely.”

“Shut up,” Lucifer says. “The rules clearly state that the office of High Scoundrel shall be granted to the member who holds the record for the longest-running single trick.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “And yours is?”

“Convincing the world that I didn’t exist,” Lucifer says triumphantly. 

“Yeah, how’s that working out for you?”

Lucifer hesitates, then sighs. “I’ve seen better days.”

“I tried to warn you,” Jesus says. “But you wouldn’t be told. That’s always been your problem, Lucifer. You won’t be told.”

“Oh, piss off,” Lucifer says, scowling. “Favoured son.”

“They’re the worst,” Loki agrees. “Buy you a beer?”

“You can buy me a barrel. Let’s get some food, too. Is Button Soup Guy around?”

“It’s an axe,” Robin corrects him.

“I thought it was a comb,” Jesus says.

“I hate you,” Lucifer tells him, and grabs Loki’s arm. 

They sweep off together in a flurry of cloaks. Jesus watches them go with a placid smile on his face.

“I like your hair,” Robin tells him.

“Thanks!” Jesus pats the impressive afro he’s sporting. “Dad doesn’t like it. But you know, I can ignore him. Because he’s me.”

Robin laughs, shaking her head. “You must be the only person in the whole of creation who can say that.”

“There is one other,” Jesus says. “But he’s human. And on a spaceship. So I don’t see him very often. Anyway he wouldn’t be allowed in here. Have you decided how to vote on Jack? The Court's hung until you do."

Robin tilts her head. "You know I can't tell you."

"You'll vote with us," Jesus says.

"Will I?" Robin says, amused.

"You're a good egg." Jesus nods to himself. "Yeah, I'm pretty confident."

"So was Loki," Blanchette points out.

Jesus waves his hand. "He's confident in that hat, it doesn't mean it's a good look. Kids today, honestly."

Robin’s in a good mood, so she doesn’t make a point of the boy’s own youth. Instead she lets her eye wander the hall, watching the reunions taking place. They range from happy with a healthy dash of mistrust to the flat-out acrimonious, from a handshake with fingers crossed behind the back to a hiss and a jabbed finger-curse which will have no effect, not while they’re under the Court’s roof. 

Two prim ladies sip tea at table with a small, yellow-haired boy, his plump legs kicking back and forth beneath his chair. A ghost swoops by, a soldier lays down his bulging pack to offer his hand to El-ahrairah. Pan struts through the throng on his heels, click-clack, and then all the hair on Robin's ears stands on end and she flinches out of the corner just in time, before it’s filled to bursting with a great blue behemoth which wasn’t there moments before.

“Every year," Blanchette complains, and then the door bursts open and a head pops out, wild hair and wilder eyes, but a big grin on it, all the same.

“Hello Robin!” he says, stepping out and grasping her hand warmly. “You’re a girl!”

“You’re not,” Robin says. “Are you early?”

His face falls. “Am I? What year is it?”

"The year Robin votes on Jack," Blanchette says.

"Oh!" he says, eyebrows jumping. "I really am early. But you'll vote with us, won't you, Robin? You wouldn't throw your lot in with the pointy hat brigade. You can't trust a being in a pointy hat, you know."

"You're wearing a fez," Robin points out.

He bristles. "Fezes are flat!"

"Anyway I'm not telling you how I'm voting. It's between me and the High Scoundrel and you're not even supposed to be here this year!"

"Not in this body, anyway," he says, and wiggles his eyebrows.

“Excuse me,” calls the Poppins girl from her tea-table before Robin can reply. “Excuse me, Doctor, but I would like to remind you that magic is forbidden within the walls of the Court.”

“What? This?” The Doctor waves his arm in a jerky gesture of expansion towards his ship. “It’s not magic! It’s science!”

“Same thing,” Loki slurs from the bar. 

“Hear, hear,” Jesus says.

The Doctor points at him. “We’ve talked about this. But I’m going to let it go this time because I must say I really do like your hair and also, I’m early. How embarrassing! Well, best be off. I’m sure I’ll be along again soon and it wouldn’t do to meet me coming the other way, would it?”

“It’s been a pleasure as always,” Robin tells him.

He makes finger guns at her. “Until next time, Gob of the Hob. Right-o!”

Robin knows she is somewhat protesting too much. Everyone will know which way her vote was cast; that's pretty much par for the course when you have the only vote that counts. She's not quite sure how it ended up like this, but perhaps an even split is to be expected when you take a vote from creatures who sit on the fence, professionally. Equally, the holder of the casting vote is supposed to be a secret, but that's another thing which ceases to exist in company like this.

They all know how she's going to vote. And if they don't, it's only because they're too young to realise none of them have a say in it anyway.

*

Inside the chamber, Robin finds an intruder sitting in her seat. "Hello, Dixxipixxi."

He scowls. "You know perfectly well how to say my name."

"I know perfectly well that's my seat you're sitting in," Robin observes.

He preens a little, curling his little legs underneath him. "I felt it was time for a promotion. Shouldn't you be down the other end of the table with the other has-beens?"

Robin rolls her eyes. "Shouldn't you be falling for a completely obvious trick somewhere?"

He folds his arms, face going purple already. "I am a full member of this Court!"

"Whatever you say, Bicklefickle."

"I'm not engaging in this. Such immaturity."

Robin frowns, like she's concentrating. "Ecclefeccle?"

"Stop it!" he snaps. "Really, Goodfellow, aren't you above this? If you want your seat back then let's debate it like civilised beings."

She holds her hands up. "You're right. You're right. I'm sorry, Wafflecrisp."

"My name is Mr. Mxyztplk!" he roars, leaping up in a rage.

Robin sits down in the vacated seat. "Thanks so much," she says airily, and is spared his tedious indignation by the arrival of the High Scoundrel's herald.

"All rise for the High Scoundrel!"

Nobody does; nobody is expected to. It's a running joke, and there's not so much as a dip in the volume as Scheherazade takes her place at the head of the Court, with Anansi and the Crow on either side.

"My friends," she says, and now her quiet, musical voice commands instant silence, as it ever has, and ever will. "It is good to see you all. I trust you are enjoying our gathering as much as I am?"

"The tea in particular is excellent," McPhee pipes up.

The Soldier Who Put Death in a Bag grunts. "Soup's not up to much."

"Agreed," says Death, in the bag.

"It's made out of a nail," Fox says. "What do you expect?"

"It's an axe," Robin says.

"It's a comb!" Jesus insists.

Loki thumps the table. "It's a button, curse you all."

"It's a stone!" says Stone (apparently) Soup Guy, looking annoyed. "As well you all know."

"I thought it was delicious," Anansi says mildly. "I particularly enjoyed the chunks of goat."

Coyote looks deeply betrayed. "Mine didn't have any goat in!"

"That's because you didn't put any goat in it," Stone Soup Guy points out.

"It's a stupid trick, anyway," Lucifer scowls.

"Hey, man," says Jesus. "It's come in handy for me once or twice."

"Moving on," says Scheherazade, pointedly. "Our main order of business is the completion of the vote on Jack. Jack, do you wish to present your case to Robin again before she votes?"

Jack's sitting back in his chair with his feet on the table like he's somebody. "Look, guys. If a person is going to leave a bunch of gold lying around-"

"In their own house," Blanchette puts in.

"Oh, whatever." Jack laces his hands behind his head. "It was self defence."

Jesus looks sceptical. "From what, a life of not-crime?"

"He said he was going to eat me."

"You were trespassing on his property," the Soldier points out.

"His wife let me in!"

"And you took advantage of his marital problems in order to rob the poor fool blind," Loki says, smiling. "Outstanding."

Jack tips an imaginary hat. "Thanks."

"You murdered him," Robin says quietly, and feels all eyes on her. "You broke into his house, stole his belongings and killed him."

Jack's no fool, and he holds her gaze. "Show me here who has clean hands?"

Scheherazade clears her throat. "Not all of us are murderers, Jack."

"No," he says. "Some of us just marry them."

"Watch your tongue," Crow says immediately. "Show some respect."

Jack laughs. "For who? A nothing who is famous simply for saving her own neck?"

"And the necks of how many other women?" Scheherazade says sharply, silencing Jack's cackles. "It is not my fate we are here to decide, Jack."

"Bar me, then!" he says, his careless attitude belied by the bright spots high on his pale, pale cheeks. "Paint me a villain and show me the door. My name is known to children enough, a claim some here cannot make."

"We are none of us immune to Forgetting, boy," Coyote says, in his slow, warm voice. "Not a single one of us here is immune to that."

Loki yawns. "This is such a charade. Everyone knows Robin's a white-hat these days. There's no honour amongst thieves anymore. It's all Health and Safety."

"Someone's bitter about their latest claim to fame," Blanchette purrs. "Nasty business down in Gotham, wasn't it? Afraid you might go the same way?"

"I am a God!" he thunders, his face transformed by a bitter, pained scowl. "I am not defined by the dreams of petty-"

"Enough," Scheherazade says. "Robin Goodfellow, the vote falls to you. Do you support the petition to have Jack's membership revoked on the grounds of cruelty and self-interest?"

All eyes on Robin once again. She looks at Jack's sneering, superior face. She feels Tinker beside her, pressing her hand. 

She says, "I do not."

*

The hullabaloo lets Robin slip out unnoticed. She won't be needed for the rest of the business. Her part is done, and the vote is final.

She scurries through the great hall, out into the courtyard and is almost to the sentries when Loki's voice stops her in her tracks. "I thought for sure you'd vote with me."

Robin turns to face him. "You were right."

He bows his head, slightly. That hat really is ridiculous. "I appreciate your...discretion."

She waves her hand. "Can't have it getting around that the big bad God of Mischief is afraid of a little boy from a fairy story, can we?"

"It's the precedent that scares me," he says.

"I know."

"If we are to punish each other for deeds which are not within our control..." he trails off, letting Robin fill in the blanks for herself. 

She touches his face. "There are other worlds."

"Indeed," he says, and catches her hand for a quick, cold kiss. "Farewell, Robin Goodfellow."

"Farewell," she replies, and then races for the gate, eager for the rush of returning magic that will carry her home.

*

The King allows her less than a moment before throwing his temper around. "Too busy to present my petition for membership? Too busy to do the bidding of your King?"

Robin winces. "The only vote was mine, my Lord."

"And you voted to save the scoundrel, of course."

"I did," she says. "To limit ourselves only to worlds in which we do good deeds would be to limit our worlds indeed, my Lord."

"And so?" comes the cold reply. "There are other worlds than the ones we share. Or do I misquote you?"

"No, my Lord," Robin says. "But what of the ones we share?"

He twirls his long, sharp-tipped fingers in the careless air. "What of them?"

"They are such worlds, my Lord," she says. "Such worlds, and all but one..."

He moves quicker than she cares to see, and his hand cups the point of her chin. "All but one?"

"All but lost." Robin lifts her eyes to the King's, silver and bright. "We must have the dreamers, my Lord. We must have their dreams. To hold ourselves above the dreaming is to hold ourselves above all that we are."

The King's eyes flash, and his grip melts away into a caress. "Honest Puck," he says, in a new, tender voice.

"For you."

"When you feel like it," he says dryly, but his lips twitch. "Come," he says, and pulls her close into his arms. "You will present my petition next time, of course."

"Of course," Robin says. "Next time."

"Liar," he says.

"So they say," Robin laughs. "So may they always say."


End file.
